


Checkmate

by collatorsden_archivist



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Dark, Horror, M/M, Madness, R/NC-17 - Red Cortina, Time Period: 1973-1981 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-08
Updated: 2008-04-08
Packaged: 2019-01-20 16:52:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12437364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collatorsden_archivist/pseuds/collatorsden_archivist
Summary: Part 8 of the Psycho!Samatic Cycle. Out-manoeuvred, Sam has time to reflect.





	Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** So, yeah. That's it. Finally. I can get on with my life now. Assuming I can remember where I left it! With many thanks to the beta team - Janni and Cuvalwen. Also, thanks to all you insane folk for actually reading this far and please, don't have nightmares...

The cell was cold. Very cold and very lonely. Sam's habitual army had left him many hours previously. About the time Chris had first propositioned him, truth be told. That thought was able to raise a smile on Sam's face, regardless of the worry of current personal circumstance. 

 

 

No-one had told him what was going on. He had come to, hours previously, lying on the hard bench with a raging headache and aches in most other parts of his body. He'd taken some time to work out where he was, finally realising he was in one of the cells in the station, but still not knowing why. He seemed to be wearing very little, a shirt and trousers he'd last seen in his locker. No shoes, no socks. 

 

 

He had banged on the cell door until the constable on duty had come to find out the source of the noise and he'd asked the man to release him or send down someone from CID to talk to him. 

 

 

So far there had been nothing. 

 

 

The last thing Sam remembered was going back to the flat after seeing Gene, that morning. Chris had been there, drinking whisky. They had sex, then he remembered nothing. He hoped Chris was all right, for all Sam knew he could be in the cell next door. 

 

 

Except, he remembered sensations. The taste of whisky, pain. Voices, more pain. Bright lights, a sense of movement. More pain. Then nothing until he woke up. 

 

 

He heard voices outside and the door finally opened, Annie stepping through. She murmured to the constable outside the door, obviously assuring him that she would be all right. But she obviously didn't believe it totally as she stood close to the door, not venturing very far into the cell. Sam could see a mixture of pity and fear in her eyes and he momentarily wondered what had put it there. 

 

 

"Annie, what's going on?" 

 

 

But Annie didn't answer him directly. Instead she asked her own questions, "Why did you do it?" 

 

 

Sam, confused, asked, "Do what, exactly?" 

 

 

"Kill all those girls?" Her eyes were wide and scared. 

 

 

Sam started. "What girls? Oh. _Those_ girls. They weren't girls. Not really. They were... shades. Nothing more, nothing less. They don't really matter in the grand scheme of things." 

 

 

"How can you say that? Each of those girls represents a life snuffed out. A family torn apart. Parents, siblings, friends grieving. That's what you've done, Sam. And you say that it doesn't _matter_? 

 

 

"What family? What friends? We don't even know who the girls are. We've never seen a shred of evidence that there is family or friends. No-one has reported them missing, no-one has claimed their bodies." 

 

 

Annie looked horrified. "The fact that they haven't been able to come forward is not evidence that they don't exist." 

 

 

"It's not like that." Sam scrubbed his face hard. Of anyone, Annie should understand. "It's… Look, I _know_ they don't exist. The girl was in my head. She came out of the TV screen to torment me. She was a demon. A nightmare. Sent solely to torture me every night. Looking so innocent, but talking in those strange riddles, mocking me, telling me to give up, making me doubt myself. I snapped one night. Reached for her and, finding that she was physical, I broke her neck. 

 

 

"But that wasn't the end. She came back the next night. And the next. Every time I gave in, I gave up, she died and yet was re-born. The act, in the end, was a salvation. A chance of taking back that life which she had stolen." 

 

 

Annie's face was white, shocked. Her mouth a perfect ‘o'. Sam reflected that, at that moment, she was more like the girl in red than the girl herself had ever been. Then, and only then, he hated her. Hated her for her assumptions, hated her for her belief. "I did it. I did them all," he spat. "And I'd do it again. A thousand times over if I could just get her staring eyes and her stupid words out of my head." 

 

 

Annie covered her mouth and turned, banging on the door. The door opened and she fled.

* * * *

Ray was the next member of CID to visit Sam, a fact that made Sam's eyebrows lift and his stomach churn. The Sergeant strode into the middle of the room, arms tightly crossed, keeping his instinctive violent tendency from lashing out. He stared at Sam for a long time in silence.

 

 

Finally, he spoke. "So, you're really as mad as we all thought you were. That figures. I've been waiting for something like this ever since you waltzed in to CID with your fancy Hyde ways, throwing your weight around, getting under our feet. We all knew you were mad then. Just, we didn't know exactly how mad. They say you have to watch the quiet ones. Well, I've been watching you. It was obvious you were up to something. All those little errands you ran, all those nights when you would rather go back to your dingy little flat than come down the pub with the rest of us. Oh, I always knew you were a bad 'un." 

 

 

Sam grimaced. "I'm glad I've proven you right then, Ray. I wouldn't want to think you were wasting your time, hating me." 

 

 

Ray sniffed, the sarcasm drifting over his head. "We went through your flat, you know. After your arrest." 

 

 

"Arrest?" 

 

 

"Well, _detainment_." 

 

 

Sam shrugged. "Well, it is standard procedure." 

 

 

"Really? Is what we found there _standard procedure_? You know, I always knew you were a raving poofter, but what you were doing to those little girls? Now that's _sick_. Poofter and a nonce. Pervert." 

 

 

Sam frowned. Standing, he shook his head. "It wasn't like that at all." 

 

 

"You mean you killed all those girls and it wasn't something _sexual_?" 

 

 

"Of course not." 

 

 

Ray smiled a deeply unsettling smile. "So you admit you killed them, then." 

 

 

"I… No! It wasn't like that. It was…" 

 

 

Ray spoke over him, effectively cutting Sam off. "I don't know and I don't much care what is going on in that depraved little mind of yours," and, with utter hate in his eyes, Ray swung at Sam, his fist connecting with his jaw. "That's for the little girls." He followed through with a rabbit punch to the stomach. Sam doubled up, moving backwards, wheezing. "And that's for upsetting the Guv." 

 

 

Ray stormed out of the cell, leaving Sam to collapse on the bench.

* * * *

When the door was next unlocked, Sam was pleased to finally see a friendly face. "Chris," he said with a broad smile. "I'm glad to see you. I thought you'd been arrested too."

 

 

Chris smiled what Sam was starting to think of as an 'old Chris' smile. Faintly bemused and puppyish. "Boss. I take it Ray has been in to see you then?" 

 

 

Sam pulled a face and wiped away a trickle of blood from his split lip with his thumb. "Yeah. Let's just say he wasn't too impressed. What's going on?" 

 

 

Chris looked serious for a moment. "The Guv's pulling together everything he needs for a formal charge. He's almost got it all as well." 

 

 

"But we can do _something_ surely. I mean, the only evidence we have is what was handed in to the Guv. We came up with a perfect explanation for us having it. You can help me. Please." 

 

 

Chris shook his head. "Oh, I'm afraid that there's more than enough evidence. You don't remember your arrest, do you? You were found, passed out, in your flat. All manner of interesting things to bag and tag. And besides, we have your confession now." 

 

 

"Confession?" 

 

 

"Annie is typing it up as we speak. You know, it makes for interesting reading." 

 

 

"What confession?" 

 

 

"When she came in earlier. I believe you said: _I did it. I did them all, and I'd do it again. A thousand times over_. Damning words, boss." 

 

 

"But I didn't mean it like that. Annie will understand. She's seen me like this, worse even. She knows some of the things that live in my head, the voices, the visions. She understands me." 

 

 

"Oh, I think she understands you very well now, _Boss._ She's firmly convinced that you're a cold, clinical, psychopathic killer. You know as well as I do, she's not completely wrong there. Your madness has a body count and she knows that now." 

 

 

Sam frowned. "But I didn't kill all those girls. You managed a healthy body count yourself, Chris." 

 

 

"Oh, I don't usually kill my demons. I embrace them. But needs must and all that. No, this was about getting your attention." Chris smiled, a cold, calculating smile that made Sam's hair stand on end. "And I did that. Quite successfully, I'd say." 

 

 

"I don't understand." 

 

 

"Oh, come on. You know, as well as I do that you were getting sloppy. You were already half-way to being caught. I had to do something. It's like putting down a loyal, but blind and lame, old sheepdog. Or," his mouth quirking as he thought through the analogy, "it's switching off the ventilator for an old friend in coma when you know there's no chance of recovery. It's a mercy and preserves the dignity of all involved." 

 

 

Sam's eyes widened as he realised the implication of Chris' words. "You fucked me and then you _fucked_ me!" he screamed, launching himself off the bench at Chris. 

 

 

Chris leaned back slightly and, using Sam's momentum to turn him, threw Sam against the cell wall face first. Sam literally saw stars for a moment as his head hit the wall with a resounding crack, the blood pouring out of his nose. Chris twisted Sam's left arm up his back and leaned in, pressing Sam against the wall. 

 

 

"Oh, yes," he breathed in Sam's ear. "And I'm not quite sure which was the more pleasurable." 

 

 

Sam's right arm was trapped between the wall and his chest and he couldn't find the purchase to throw Chris off him. Then Chris pressed in further and Sam stopped struggling. He could feel the entire length of Chris' body against him, hot through the thin shirt. Chris moved his hips slightly, rubbing his obvious erection against the cleft of Sam's buttocks. The sense memory of the previous night assaulted Sam and arousal spiked through him. Chris obviously sensed some change in him as he leaned in, whispering in Sam's ear "Oh, you like that, don't you? I wish I'd known last night, we could have had even more fun." 

 

 

Sam started to struggle again, but it only served to frustrate him further as each movement caused him to rub against Chris, against the wall or both. Chris leaned his entire body weight on Sam, restricting his breathing, nipping at his neck, running his tongue up his jugular, pressing in and pulling Sam's arm further up his back. 

 

 

The friction, combined with the pain, the taste of the blood in the back of his throat and the hot heavy breath on the back of his neck undid Sam completely and he came with a muffled scream. 

 

 

Chris stepped back and Sam slid down the wall, the tears running down his face, mingling with the blood. But even through the tears, he could see Chris was as unruffled and calm as he had been when he stepped in the cell. 

 

 

"How...?" he croaked. 

 

 

"I have some self-control. Unlike you." Chris stepped over Sam's legs and, pausing to throw something at Sam, he walked over to the door, turning as he banged on it. He winked at Sam, sprawled broken against the wall. "Be seeing you around, _Boss_." 

 

 

Sam picked up the object that Chris had thrown onto his chest. It was a photograph, an old-fashioned Polaroid. Squinting slightly, he realised that it was a photograph of him, unconscious and naked, hog-tied on the table he had made. Chris had obviously taken it earlier in the flat, after Sam had passed out, before his final act of betrayal. Stomach churning, he threw it across the cell and, still wheezing, his mind whirling, Sam threw up.

* * * *

Sam was barely aware of the passage of time. He curled up on the narrow bench, his lip and nose throbbing dully. His tears dried in streaks down his bloody face.

 

 

The door to the cell opened once more and Gene stepped through. Almost as apprehensive as Annie had been, he stood at the doorway. 

 

 

"You took your time," Sam muttered. 

 

 

"Well, I've been attempting to clear up your mess. We found your latest offering for CID an hour ago." 

 

 

Sam frowned and sat up. "Another one?" 

 

 

"As you well know. I hope to God it's the last. There's no more bodies you want to tell us about, are there?" 

 

 

Sam shook his head. "She's nothing to do with me, Guv." 

 

 

Gene flinched. "You don't get to call me that any more, _Tyler_. And we know it's you. You left your calling card." He held out a further evidence bag, the glint of metal from the medallion discernable through the blood and the plastic. "It was wrapped around her fingers, she'd obviously snatched it from you in the struggle." 

 

 

Sam's hand flew to his throat. He hadn't even noticed that his St. Christopher was missing. 

 

 

"I…" 

 

 

Gene's next words mirrored his thoughts."You didn't even realise it was missing, did you? Yes, you've fucked up royally. With the evidence we've so far retrieved, it's a forgone conclusion. You're insane, Tyler. I've known it since you first stepped foot into CID, but I never realised the depths of your madness. You're a bastard loony and we can't ignore it now." He banged on the door with his fist. "Which is why I've signed the papers." 

 

 

He nodded to the two hospital orderlies, who now came through the door. "You can take him away now, lads." 

 

 

Head down, eyes leaking silent tears, Sam didn't say another word.

* * * *

Chris gingerly knocked on the door of Gene's office, only opening it when Gene's gruff voice bade him to.

 

Feet up on his desk, Gene had dispensed with the niceties of a glass and was swigging whisky straight from the bottle. 

 

 

"How could I not know?" he asked plaintively to no-one in particular. "I mean, he was _my_ DI. And he was killing those girls right under my nose." Gene banged the table with his fist. "What does that say about me that _I_ didn't realise?" 

 

 

Chris put the last of the files down, fumbling slightly and almost knocking them to the floor. Gene gave him an exasperated look, and Chris twisted his mouth, apologetically.

 

"Dunno, Guv. The Boss, I mean DI Tyler, he was always a bit queer. Always mumbling to himself; Ray even caught him crying in the bogs a couple of times." 

 

 

Gene nodded, morosely. "See. He even acted loony. But he was safe. He brought in the collars, even if he did it in his overly-complicated _Hyde_ way. Who really knew the depths of that madness of his? It's almost as if…" Gene's eyes narrowed. "It's almost as if he was _acting_ mad to cover up the real insanity." He glanced up at Chris. "But that would mean he knew what he was doing. Do you think we did the right thing, sending him to the funny farm?" 

 

 

Chris shrugged. "I dunno. He's not going anywhere, so what's the difference?" 

 

 

Gene sighed. "Yeah, and it keeps the glare of the public eye off this department, I suppose." He swigged the last of the whisky. "We've not had much luck with DIs have we? That's three we've had to section in the last four years. Plus there was that incident with DI Parsons. Now that was a tragedy." 

 

 

Chris paled, convincingly. "I, I don't like to remember that, Guv." 

 

 

Gene looked reminiscent for a moment. "A terrible tragedy for all involved. Oh well." His eyes focussed back on the present. "Perhaps I should look at promoting from within. Ray's been hankering for Inspector for years. It's possibly time he got it. Assuming he doesn't manage to set fire to himself or blow up the city within the first week, that is." 

 

 

Chris looked through the half-open blind through to the rest of the CID office. Ray had his feet up on his desk, his head tilted back slightly, mouth open. Chris thought of the times Ray had mocked his clumsiness; the times Ray had pinned up pictures of him drunk; the times Ray had given him bad advice with women. The hundreds of little humiliations over the years passed through his mind and he smiled slowly. "Ray'd love that." 

 

 

Gene nodded, making his decision." Right then. I think that means a celebratory drink down the Arms." He grabbed his coat and made his way over to Ray's desk. 

 

 

Chris hung back at the door of Gene's office, eyes narrowing. Life was certainly going to get more interesting from here on in. 

 

 

_fin_


End file.
